itstopped | Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

[Inmate Filter]

[It was a very good weekend with a very bad ending for Felix, which might be why he's back to smoking in front of the camera again. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned as well, although he otherwise seems as composed as usual.]

Do any of you know why you're here?

[He pauses, then smirks ruefully.] For once, I'm not trying to sow dissent. I don't need you to tell me what kind of monster the Admiral is. I'm just... wondering what you think it is he thinks you need to change, and...

Well, no and. Just that.

[Private to Claire Bennet]

Could I ask you a question?

[Private to Trip, Racetrack, Barbara, Charles, separately]

I have something to tell you. [He glances away from the screen for a second, worry -- or something worse -- flashing in his eyes.] I... think I might really be a traitor this time.

If you're receiving this message-- [A tacit, almost wordless admission that there are others involved here, multiple victims.] --it's because I've been gathering information on you. My resources have been... limited, but I've compiled a detailed file that contains more or less everything you've said on any public or warden-only filter, and in some cases, in private communications as well.

I honestly thought that, given my... my history, I was doing what was best for myself and for the ship, but I realize now that I was wrong. I take full responsibility for my actions.

[Spam for Dean]

[Felix had left the room as soon as Dean had, the night after the flood, and he's been laying even lower than usual ever since. It's not that he wants to stay away, not this time -- he's just assuming that Dean wants nothing to do with him, and as much as he already misses him, he doesn't want to provoke a confrontation when he has nothing more to say in his own defense and no particularly convincing argument to make Dean take him back.

Honestly, things seem to go better for him when he avoids conflicts, anyway.

Unfortunately, though, he actually needs some things from the room, so he tries to pick a time when he suspects Dean won't be around. He still has the key, so he slips inside quietly and starts collecting his things, with every intention of leaving the key behind and no further trace of himself.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I know. It's okay. [It's almost intimidating, that level of candid sincerity. Dean certainly doesn't know quite what to do with it so it makes his smile a little weird, a little off kilter, but his fingers close around Felix's with his typical steadiness and his chest feels warm. Tight. He recognizes that. It scares him a little, but it also means... they can be okay. They can. For a while longer at least.

The impulse to draw Felix in close and fold him against Dean's side is so strong and so natural, even despite the past couple of days, that the muscles of his arm are tensing up in preparation to do just that when he catches himself. His thumb rubs a soothing arc over the side of Felix's hand, soothing for them both, but he's not done yet. He can't be. Dean tilts his head to study Felix and, drawing a deeper breath, takes a drink of his beer finally, speaking around the tail end of swallowing it before he can lose his nerve.]

Alright. I do need you to do something for me... and for right now, it's just... listen. I'm not all that great at this to begin with, so we're probably only gonna get about one shot at this, and I need you... I need you to hear me. Okay? [If Felix is being uncharacteristically solemn, this brand of earnestness isn't exactly something Dean displays often, though it's not uncomfortable on him. All the bells and whistles are gone, all the flash and glitter; what's left is that serious child he was, grown, still scared but more confident, stronger. He leans over to set the beer down on the floor out of the way, then shifts so he's more facing Felix on the couch.]

What I said before... I was pretty shaken up, after that flood. I can't really explain it, it just... it hit me completely wrong. I've been... I don't... It's been bad. For a while. Even before the Barge, but I always just thought if I could just... get through it, somehow, things would lighten up. It would go away. Things... [Dean hesitates, dropping his eyes again, and he's quiet for a moment but it's clearly a pause. His free hand comes to trace over Felix's wrist, over the back of the hand in his other one, but his rough fingers are feather light and they don't stay.

He lets out a slow breath, voice lower.] It's been bad for a while. And then that wasn't a great time... I mean, it really wasn't. [He cuts off a breathy, self-deprecating laugh, because when was it ever, but man...] So that all just hit me at once and came out... bigger than it needed to be. I'm sorry.

[That's not all of it, but. It's enough for right now, Dean glancing up somewhat sidelong without raising his chin, fingers still playing over Felix's skin.]

[Dean says listen, so he does. He's good at being quiet, anyway, good at taking in information, even if he's been terrible at processing it lately. He turns when Dean does, keeps his hand on his, and when Dean says I need you to hear me, he opens his ears and heart and tries to.

What he hears, though... Dean is trying to reassure him, but it really just scares him more, makes him feel worse, and not because of the paranoia. Not this time. No -- Dean asked him to hear, and what he hears is things like it's been bad for a while -- echoed, even, emphasized. He hears that this has been going on right in front of his eyes, that he's just been missing it all this time, and he doesn't know why. Out of selfishness or stupidity? Are there any other options? Even if Dean has been hiding it... he should have noticed. He should have done...

...What? Obviously nothing he's done yet has helped, as much as that hurts to think, and he has nothing in particular in his repertoire. He's used to being a rock, but not an emotional one. In matters like this... before Dean, there had only been a few people he'd had a real bond with, and the best he could do to protect the only one left was to leave him.

It takes him a while to respond while he thinks this all through, although it's more than clear that he is thinking, his eyes on Dean, his hand steady and firm on his. Eventually, he decides that the only thing he can bring to the table is what he already has been tonight: honesty. He shifts in closer, brings the other hand up to rest lightly on Dean's knee, voice soft.]

I hear you. Tell me what I can do.

[Dean would laugh if he could hear that Felix thinks nothing he's done has helped. Sure, he's done some things that have been less than helpful for Dean's state of mind, and no small amount of that helpless feeling comes from knowing how much he already loves Felix and the inevitability - not even born of his own issues, but stated by Felix himself in a dozen different ways from the very beginning - of losing him, of knowing there's nothing he can do about it. He should've said it the other night, when he thought Felix was going to protest their relationship again, try to push him away for the sake of pushing him away: Felix is the best thing in his life right now. Bar none. If Dean is happy, really happy and not just the foolsgold gilding of his personality, it traces back to right here.

Dean hadn't wanted anyone to know, and the people who knew him well enough to see kept cycling out the door, and adding their own footprint to the load through no fault of their own; Dean doesn't know how to let people go. He never has, and he's been on a slippery slope ever since John died, one that's only getting steeper, but ironically that's not the point - or rather, that's not why he brought it up. He'd thought... he doesn't know what he thought, what he expected to see in Felix's face when he looked across, maybe the confusion and the frustration again. The lack of understanding, and the impatience with what Dean suspects is still something he should be able to just get over. When he doesn't, though, when Felix instead reaches out, it becomes... not easier. Admitting to vulnerability of any kind will never be easy for the hunter, but more bearable.]

I don't know. I don't know what to do about it. [He'd said that, and he's much calmer now, but it's no less true. He's also moving on.] I just... you said, you didn't understand how I could talk about one mistake, and... and think I wasn't good enough, but also... [Love you.] think you are. I just. It's not fooling myself. It's that my bullshit's been going on for a long time, ever since Dad... that's just what I grabbed onto. It was just one example. And I was ten. So...

[Dean is straying off topic and he makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. He doesn't know how to explain that success was love in the eyes of John Winchester, the only expectation, and that it's the only way Dean knows how to measure his self worth. He's not going to try. He's just not. But he does know what else he saw that night.

Licking his lips, he tangles his fingers up with Felix's, both hands this time, and hopes he doesn't sound as much like an idiot as he feels.]

You said you were sick of fooling yourself. You also said you're not very good at... seeing things for what they are, the middle road, not one side or the other. I... want you to stop comparing us. We're not the same. We haven't had the same lives, we haven't had to make the same choices. I'm not better than you. I just haven't had to make those calls.

...Who knows. I might've done better. I might've fucked it up even worse. I'd probably be dead. But we're never gonna know, and we're never gonna know what you would've done with my life. I just...

You're good, sweetheart. Not perfect, but... don't go too far the other way, either, while you're trying to make up for bullshit mistakes. It won't change anything that's already happened. Don't stop looking at what is because you can't stop seeing just the prison or the summer camp. That's what I need you to hear.

That's what I want.

Edited 2013-08-22 06:47 (UTC)

[It's still confusing and frustrating -- that much hasn't changed at all. But it's different, the way Dean is talking about it now: before, he'd tried to explain the reasons, the story about Sam, about his father, and the fact of the matter is that Felix is never going to understand the reasons, because they don't make sense to anyone but Dean. Not even entirely to Dean himself, apparently. And it's true that Felix simply can't be anything but frustrated when faced with something like I'm consumed with rage over something inconsequential that I did when I was ten.

This, though... now, the language is different, and it's one he understands a little better. He understands being hung up on things that can't be changed. He understands obsessing on details to the point of irrationality. Where he is, perhaps, a twisted kind of lucky is that his details are the kind that are easy to get hung up on -- the names of the dead and doomed, betrayals, destruction -- but the basic framework is one he understands. And frustrated or not, he loves Dean so much, and the idea that he's been secretly miserable, maybe even as miserable as Felix, is one that he can't just brush off with an irritated shrug. He might be pretty bad at empathy, but he's not a monster.

Which is, he supposes, the point, although he's not sure what to do with the fact that Dean is turning this back on him. He shifts his grip on Dean's hands, taking them between his, folded together as if in prayer. His brow knits, eyes staying lowered, stomach twisting with uncertainty.]

I know I'm not... I know there are worse than me here. Much worse. I know that I've always tried to do what's right, however badly I've failed at that. But I just... Dean, I hear these standards you have for yourself, and... [The crease in his brow deepens, lips pressing tight together for a moment.] And I don't think you're seeing the truth clearly, either. If not about me, then about yourself.

[He rubs his thumbs over Dean's, and now he looks up and smiles wanly. Sweetheart?] If you could get a grip on that frakking temper of yours, I'd still make you Admiral. I'd like to think that's not just... not just personal. [Not just his feelings.

He sits back a little and sighs, leaning into the couch.] And as for the rest of it... I don't know. I'm trying. I've been trying. [He tears one hand away just long enough to rub over his face, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye.]

[Sweetheart. Dean doesn't even try to take it back, doesn't even seem to notice he said it. He's gone still under Felix's hands now and while it isn't as far to go as it would normally be, he stays there now and listens, and thinks about it. He'd only brought himself up to clear the air and because the point he'd wanted to make for Felix was hopelessly intertwined with himself from that conversation. He turns it back on Felix because that's what's important to him, that's what matters.

But Felix is talking about his temper again, something he'd brought up originally, and he's making a joke out of it but it's not a joke. It's real, and he really has a hard time controlling it, and...] I know you're trying. I just... wanted you to know where I stand on it. That... I dunno. That that's what I see, anyway.

[It's easier now to be close, though Dean is still holding himself somewhat separate. He gives more ground, following Felix's raised hand up to brush back a few stray pieces of hair almost thoughtlessly. The standards Dean sets for himself, the reasons, those aren't things he can talk about plainly. Instead, he's quiet a moment more, and then circles back with a low, long breath.

He's not always lying. He's not always miserable. But it's always there waiting for him where only he knows about it, where he's putting it back out into the world as something else, usually anger.]

I didn't used to be this way, you know. Dad, Sam, they're the ones who fought. I didn't let much get to me. I learned how to do that, somewhere along the way, I didn't used to... I didn't want to fight. I'm not the one with the temper, believe it or not.

[He bows his head under the soft touch of Dean's hand. There's a quiet and simple pleasure in the graze of his fingers, missed so dearly even after only a few days. His eyes close for half a second; a brief break from the heaviness of the conversation.

But only a brief one. I didn't let much get to me, he hears, and he remembers when he was the same way. Head still lowered, he bites his lip.]

You know, the first time I tried to kill Gaius... I think I knew all along that I wouldn't really do it. I had a gun on him, but I knew I couldn't really pull the trigger, no matter how much I wanted to see him dead.

[He breathes in, lets it out softly.] The second time, I stabbed him in the throat.

[His lips thin into something that isn't really a smile at all.] You're right about at least one thing: we're shaped by the things that happen to us.

Edited 2013-08-23 01:54 (UTC)

[There are two conversations currently being held, Dean doesn't think, because these aren't the kinds of things he notices consciously. Nonetheless it's true: Dean isn't a gentle person as a rule, but his hands are steady and careful, and he likes the way Felix responds to the touch, likes the softness in a man who otherwise isn't at all. Felix isn't soft, Dean isn't gentle, but the hunter cards his fingers more deeply through Felix's hair anyway because he can, and he listens to what he's being told, head canted slightly to one side.

It surprises him, a little. And then again, it doesn't at all. Both show in the mild arch of his eyebrow, the tug at the corner of his mouth, neither a smile nor a frown nor an inquiry nor a judgment. He could joke here - you should've stuck with the gun, but then again maybe not - but it isn't in him. That's not how the second conversation goes.]

You stabbed him in the throat. [Dean is no stranger to violence, but he knows Felix will do almost anything to avoid it. Prefers to avoid it. He'd believed him, before, and he remembers Gaius, to the point where... It's terrible, that Felix was driven to do that, that he'd still do it. But it also means they're on exactly the same page.

Dean remembers Meg, remembers the stranger in the alleyway, the soldier in Wyoming. Sam had killed Jake, but Dean hadn't blamed him, not for a moment, and Dean would've done it himself a moment later.]

I just worry that sometimes... I've always... If I could just push through it, just get to the other side it'd be okay. That's what happened, before, with Mom. It was never okay, but I figured out how to just live with it, and be okay. Eventually. I keep waiting for that to happen. And sometimes I think that's starting to happen, but...

[That's about where Dean catches himself, remembers who he's talking to; Felix needs Dean's belief, his optimism, not his latent fear that he's just going to sink under the surface this time. His brow clears, but his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head.] Sorry. You don't wanna hear about that. No one does.

I did. With the pen I was holding. [He doesn't lift his head, lets the warmth and movement of Dean's fingers soothe his scalp, but when his eyelids close again it's the weight of memory and not of peace that pulls them down. He remembers being in that little cell with Gaius all too well, and the moment when the fear and rage had truly overtaken him for the first time. Remembers how everything had become a blur of red--

I know what your Eight did.

He can't be allowed to live. Not after what he did.

--and then darkness, and how much he resents, years down the line, that Adama and Roslin had thwarted him then, too. But no, he's not as much a stranger to what Dean sometimes goes through as he'd like to be. It had happened then, and on the transport ship, and again on the Barge. New Caprica has been his trigger; Sam, he supposes somewhat absently, is Dean's.

And it's true, he doesn't want to hear about it. It's confusing and frustrating at best, because it's not something he's ever going to really understand, and terrifying at worst, because he does need Dean's-- if not optimism, at least his solidity. His stability. Felix doesn't want to see all these cracks in him, not when he still has so many of his own. He looks up, finally, and there is a nervousness in the darkness of his eyes that he can't quite hide.]

But what?

[Dean can't sink under the surface when Felix is still fighting so hard to come up from the bottom.]

A pen. [And now Dean does smile, a little in disbelief, but he of all people knows that whatever works is what works. A weapon is a weapon. There's a grim, sharp-toothed kind of pride in that tiny smile, the part of Dean that loves the part of Felix that won't break no matter what; the knowledge of what kind of depth of feeling it takes to use a pen to stab someone in the throat.] Remind me of that, next time I piss you off. I promise I'll stop.

[Ironically, Sam isn't Dean's trigger. Dean is content to let people believe that, it's simpler, easier to talk about because Sam is back now. And that's not to say that Dean isn't absolutely capable of being irrational about Sam, but it's born from desperation, not anger. Need, not something unfilled and brittle. Sam is an intrinsic kind of motivation for Dean that isn't easily explained, but which Dean has settled comfortably into.

No. Dean's trigger is someone he has only spoken about in glimpses too quick to see what's really there, passing mentions, though the mark is all over him. He's only been remotely candid with Cain, and that was... partially something Dean doesn't understand, and partially Dean's attempts to be that good man Felix says he is. To be fair. To explain. Dean's trigger is John.]

It's stupid. [Dean mutters it almost under his breath, but he knows he's going to tell him. The nerves are what do it. Dean can reassure Felix all he likes - and he does try, because there are cracks but he's still Dean, he's still solid, he's still as whole as he ever was; these cracks have been there the entire time, and Felix has still been able to lean on him - but now that he's glimpsed it, he'll need to understand it, or at least Dean needs to give him all the pieces he can. His fingers in Felix's hair withdraw, but only to settle lower, backs of his fingers at the side of Felix's neck before he's turning his hand over, his palm warm where he leaves it to steady them both.]

I just... want to be with people I love. And I can't. There's always something. Mom died. Dad... did what he did, he died. Sam stopped talking to us for four years, then he died, too. People here, they're in and out like there's a damn revolving door somewhere, and sometimes they go home and sometimes they go god knows where and sometimes...

And that happens. That's life. Other people can move on, but I can't... just let people go. I don't know how. Yet. I'm trying. But I don't know how.

[It's not as stupid as Dean thinks it is, this time, but it's also not a good confession to make to Felix Gaeta in particular. Not good for a few reasons, really, because there's always that problem he has, that he's very nearly always able to one-up the entire rest of the ship in the grief and loss department. There's always that little voice in him that says, Oh, really? Your family died? Tell me how hard that is.

But that's a typical thing for Felix now, easy to shrug off the way he usually does. He's starting to get much better at forcing himself to feel sympathy when he might otherwise not and faking it entirely when he can't. No, he suspects Dean knows the real problem, here.

And suddenly, Felix is the one that doesn't want to touch anymore. He straightens up, pulls back like a shying animal, looking at Dean with something that's a little bit shock and a little bit angry, a little bit hurt and a little bit afraid.

He doesn't say anything, but he knows he doesn't have to. He knows Dean knows what the real problem is.

The real problem is that he has yet to say -- has yet to decide at all -- that he doesn't still want to be one of the people that leaves.]

[Dean knows all the reasons it's not a good thing to tell Felix, which is part of why it's taken this long for him to just say it. Knowing all of that doesn't make Dean feel it any less, though, and he stopped hiding it, stopped being able to hide it, and now they're here.

Felix jerks away and Dean doesn't try to stop him, lifting his hand out of the way and taking it back, scrubbing at his mouth. He knows what the problem is. He knows how unfair it was for him to say that. But what was he supposed to do - lie?]

I know. Look, I... [Dean pulls back into himself, too, shoring up the parts of him that had begun to soften again, pulling the cover back over the cracks. He meant it. He's trying. He looks up at Felix because he has to, because he has to own being the one to put that out into the air, but he doesn't have to like it.]

I don't expect anything. I'm not saying this changes anything. I didn't... say that because I want anything. [That's not true, but saying that is even more unfair; the problem is this can't be news to Felix. Just because Dean hasn't said it in a long time doesn't mean he doesn't know it hasn't gone away, right?

Dean's shoulders tense and he, too, straightens up where he's sitting, shifting more to the edge of the cushion like he might get up but turning instead to face Felix again though he keeps his hands to himself.]

It's my bullshit. Mine. I get that.

[He's known, of course, that Dean doesn't want him to go, and even that Dean isn't especially fantastic at dealing with loss. Of course he knows that Dean saying he doesn't want anything is a lie. Still, there's a difference, a vast difference, between knowing that and knowing that his... going, finishing, dying, whatever one wants to call it, might be a major contributor to Dean falling the frak apart. Might even be the last straw, if he's already starting to crumble like this as it is.]

What am I supposed to say to that? And don't say nothing. [He adds the second part quickly, before Dean can, because of course he will. But no, this warrants more than that.]

[The question has an odd effect on Dean. He feels the familiar, choking desperation trying to sink its claws into what stability he has left, feels the mortar flaking, and that's what this was about for him to begin with. His expression darkens slightly - a little bit of anger, a little bit of that hurt they've been trading off all night, but no shock, no fear. Just a white-knuckled kind of determination that always turns up in him when the chips are down.]

You say grow the fuck up, Dean. You say be an adult, Dean. Figure it out, Dean, because it's not your choice.

You say if you really want me to do what I want, Dean, then let me do what I want, not what you think I should want. That's what you say.

[It's news to him that Dean wants him to do what he wants to do, he thinks but doesn't say. He doesn't say anything for a minute; just looks at him, tense, drawn in on himself just a little bit in that trapped-animal way that tends to bode trouble. This isn't fair, he thinks, too, and it's amazing how much something he was desperate to reclaim a few minutes ago can feel so much like blackmail right now.

But maybe he's lying to himself again to say he didn't know this would happen. He'd known this was a mistake, getting serious like this. How many times had he thought to himself that he should break it off before now? In LA. After the robot flood. After Dean had died. He'd known it would come to something bad in the end.

Then again, he wasn't the only one. He leans forward a bit, combative, voice low and contained.]

I've never made any secret, not even for a moment, of what my plans would be in the event that I was ever allowed to make plans of my own again. And frankly, you're right: it's not your choice, but let's be honest -- it's probably not mine, either. Even if I change my mind, there's still every chance that the Admiral will get in the way of things.

But if that doesn't happen... You've known from the start what I wanted, Dean, and you knew about this, and you did choose.

I'm not saying I don't share some of the responsibility, and I'm not saying you have to figure it out alone, but... why would you choose a dying man?

I know that. I've known that.

[Dean has to stop there for a moment, though, staring steadily back at Felix; he wants to say he didn't choose, but that's not true. He remembers deciding to make a conversation out of it after the flood in which his alternate self shot down Felix's alternate self. He remembers deciding not to let Felix sabotage them both after Silent Hill. They've been friends almost from the start, that wasn't a choice, and if the rest of it couldn't be considered entirely to be one either, he certainly hadn't allowed them to drift apart like maybe they should have.

And he wants to say that the realization he's come to over the past couple months was always there, that he never hoped to change Felix's mind somehow, that he wasn't lying to himself about that hope. But he has been, less so now than when they started, but still selfish, still stubborn. He has always wanted Felix to do what he wants. He'd just also been hoping, selfishly, that it would include Dean, too.

Which is not something he thinks he has to say; he hadn't meant to use their relationship remotely like blackmail, although he's aware that that's how it must have come off. Adding that would make it intentional and if ever it was, it was never to hurt Felix. His eyes search Felix's darker gaze, and he says the only absolutely true thing he can think of.]

Because why not? I mean, goddammit, don't we both get to be happy, even a little? If you have to be here, if this is how I get what I need, and we can make each other happy for that time, then why the hell not?

It's not like it would've been easy for me if we'd just stayed friends. It's not like I never cared before we started screwing around. But this way... I'd be lying to say I haven't been hoping you'd change your mind, but that's not what I meant just now. It's worth it. We've been worth it.

Yeah, I chose to be here, and I want you here with me for as long as you are, and I don't regret that. And I... I hope you don't, either, or that I make you regret it, because I don't and I never will. And I know... I know that someday, one way or another, you won't be here, and I'm going to have to accept that, somehow, but why not.

Why the fuck not you?

It's different for me. You know it is. I mean-- yes, that's what I was thinking, too, that at least I could have something, and... and I didn't stop it when it became more than that, but...

[He hesitates, licks his lips.] But I don't have to regret it. I won't have to deal with the aftermath. And I understand how selfish that is, I do, but I...

[He shakes his head and looks away, pressing a hand to his mouth, fingers curled into a fist. It is selfish, and that's exactly what he wants: to be selfish, to get the rest he's earned and earned over again by being here. To escape the pain, if he can't be spared it.]

You should have found someone who wouldn't do this to you. That's why.

Don't.

[Dean's voice is immediate and firm, but he's not angry; he's not going to be the one that holds selfishness against other people, not when he's the one it affects most greatly, anyway. Because yes, that's Felix's choice, and no one should get a say in that but him; but Felix was Dean's choice, and he's not about to back off it now.

And then there's the other thing:] Don't you start trying to go easy on me now.

Yeah, I knew from the start how this was gonna end. I did it anyway. I've got my reasons, and they've changed a bit, but that doesn't change any of it. I knew. I wanted you anyway.

If you're having second or third or fourth thoughts now, that's one thing, but... you're the one who reminded me that the easy path is only the best one if it's also the right one - I have never once doubted that I made the right choice. End of story.

[Felix doesn't know what to say in response to that. It's partly the same reason as before: this is still confusing and frustrating, still hurtful, still a little terrifying, this idea that by getting the rest he's so craved ad so needed he's somehow dooming Dean to crumbling a little further... It's partly that what Dean's saying now doesn't change any of that, and partly that nothing feels like quite enough in the face of such a simple, powerful statement: I have never once doubted that I made the right choice. Felix knows what he could say -- what he could easily say, because he's so choked up with love for the man sitting next to him right now that it's making the pain all that much worse -- but it would be easy, even if he's never said it, and it's not enough.

A kiss, too, doesn't feel like enough. Or that it would be misunderstood, somehow, that he wouldn't be able to put the right feelings into it. In the end, he unfolds himself and turns back to Dean, and just does the simplest thing he can think of. He slides his hands up Dean's neck, twists them into his hair, and pulls him gently forward until he can rest his forehead against Dean's, and then he sinks forward against him with every ounce of exhaustion he feels. It's its own kind of statement: whether he's having second or third or fourth or fifth thoughts, it doesn't matter, because this is home in its own way.]

[Dean had been telling the truth: the concern that he's crumbling is legitimate. But he's also become accustomed to people - to Felix - expecting more from him and, because of this, sometimes he can be more. The cracks Felix had been so concerned about are back out of sight, now, Dean's attention intent and unwavering, as if he can believe the good things into existence for them. As if he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

That's not true, either, not entirely, because when Felix continues not saying anything Dean is certain he said something wrong, that this entire conversation has turned everything on its ear. He still can't regret it. He can't regret showing Felix what he did, both good and bad, won't take back what he said. He's taking a breath to try to break the stalemate, say something, anything, he doesn't know when Felix takes it out of his hands.

Felix's fingertips slide over his bare skin and, shiver running out and down his spine, Dean knows it's going to be alright. For now, anyway, somehow it's going to be alright. Felix is sagging against him and Dean feels like he can breathe again so he does, eyes closing partway, breathing into the same space where their foreheads are leaned together; his own arms come up and if Felix is gentle, Dean isn't.

He tightens his arms securely around Felix, pulling him close and tight unapologetically, shifting in his position so they can settle more completely against one another. He doesn't let go or ease up, as if he can keep Felix safe here by sheer force of will, as if he can just hang onto him indefinitely. He'll let Felix stay there as long as he needs to, as long as he will; Dean is done, he thinks, wasting both of their time trying to keep him at arm's length.]

I'm sorry. [His voice is low, the exact middle of the road, halfway between sincere apology for all the things he's done wrong or that have hurt Felix - scaring him, pushing him away, keeping this from him, putting this on his shoulders - and using one set of words to mean another. Sorry because he loves Felix and he can't be sorry for that. He won't.]

[He shifts with him, curls into him, head falling to burrow into the crook of his neck, arms wrapping tight around him then, and for a while his only reply is to shake his head at the apology. It's his fault -- so much of it is, including the reason they haven't spoken since Tuesday, and even if he can admit Dean is hurting him, he can't deny that he's doled out his fair share of harm at this point.

This is, of course, the thing that's wearing at him so, eating at him so, the very reason he's been and on some level still is so eager to die: because caring about anything seems to necessitate pain, both giving and receiving wounds no matter how hard he tries not to, and if he's learned anything this past year it's that he's never going to be able to stop caring. Too much. He's not even sure why he still tries so hard to work himself to collapse, except that it's one of the only three ways he knows how to fall asleep at all. And this, too: he loves Dean, the Dean he knows, too much, so much that he doesn't always know how to cope with it when his image of his Dean Winchester is shaken.

It's true that he doesn't know what to do with a Dean that's cracking inside. He does need him to be more than that, at least for a little while. He needs Dean to hold him, because no one else he's ever loved like this ever has.

Except this is where they are, and this is what they do have, and he promised not to hide from the truth anymore.

He's quiet for a time, so still that he could almost have fallen asleep if his eyes weren't open. Eventually, he lets out an almost silent sigh and gives the back of Dean's neck a rub, shifting back just enough to make it easier to talk without muffling the sound.]

We can still help each other, for now. You've been helping me, and... I can't say I'll be very good at it, but... there must be something I can do.

[The Dean under Felix's hands now is the same Dean as he's always been; as far as Felix and the Barge are concerned, anyway. He came here wounded and barely holding together, but no one knew him well enough to see. By the time anyone did he'd learned to plaster over the new cracks, to shore up the new weaknesses, because he's had his eye on the prize at the end the entire time and it's been enough to keep him moving forward, anyway.

And it's not always fake. It is in his nature to be warm and light-hearted, confident and sure, and yes, even a pompous ass. He does his best work on holding himself together when other people need him to, and he knows that, he's known it for longer than anyone would be able to guess. He's never questioned that Felix needs him. That's part of why it's so easy for him to cross the gap between them whenever Felix needs it, to make time, to push closer. It's just what he does.

Most would think that it's unusual, how still and steady Dean holds while Felix stays curled up against him, unmoving except for the slow path of his fingers from time to time brushing a slow, soothing trail over Felix's skin, his hair, over the fabric of his clothes under Dean's hands. But this is just more of the same from when they share a bed the night through, Dean gravitating to draping an arm here, tangling their feet together there, burying his face in the back of Felix's neck and wanting to keep contact even in sleep. It steadies him, too.

Felix pulls back and Dean opens his eyes more fully, tilting his head just enough to be able to meet his lover's eyes, skin prickling under the attentions of Felix's fingers. The corner of his mouth tugs, amused by the caveat, and he does consider it before answering as honestly as he can.]

You already have been. Really. [That sounds... like it sounds. Like a blow-off, or an easy out, or maybe an outright lie. He tries again, although he meant that at its simplest.] You were one of my first friends here, fresh off losing Sammy. And yeah, we're a pain in each others' ass, but... when I've asked, you've been here.

[Felix is notoriously reticent, and it is unusual, not just to the casual observer but objectively so, how long he stays this time. Longer, in fact, than he's entirely comfortable with, long enough that Dean's warmth starts to overwhelm a little, that things start to feel a little claustrophobic. But whatever Dean is saying, it does sound like a blow-off, and... this is something he can do, now that he really thinks about it. Dean is always trying to touch, seeking out contact, and while he's been slowly wearing Felix down on the subject, he could do more. He'll do more, he thinks.

It's a compromise, but it doesn't feel like a sacrifice -- not when he knows what he's asking from Dean in return. He doesn't answer out loud, but his own lips quirk in response, either accepting the correction or dismissing it without argument. Instead, he draws him down into the kiss he'd put off earlier, light and soft, a promise he doesn't need to put into words this time. Because it's true: he has tried, at least, to be around, whether or not Dean says please. He may not be able to say he'll stay forever, but he can say this much. He's here now. He can keep being here now.]

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